Published in the Youngblood section of the April 5, 2007 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer.
I took my place near the altar. After glancing around inside the small chapel, my mouth formed what must have been my biggest smile ever.
Twenty or so married women were smiling at me. They were seated on long slabs of wood that served as pews. Half of them were cradling their very young children in their arms. They gave me courage to start with my task, which was to speak about the law on violence against women and children, not so much with words as with their smiles and the interest that I saw on their faces.
Clutching a copy of RA 9262, I suddenly felt unworthy of their warm welcome. I had no intention of going to that remote sitio of Lamkot in Banga, South Cotabato. I went there with my five classmates only because we were required in our Religious Education class to conduct a pastoral integration activity.
I never had a good impression of outreach activities. For me, they encourage and even breed mendicancy. They remind me of our politicians’ habit of giving doles during campaign periods.
It does not help that many students’ idea (and practice) of a community service is an activity that involves distribution of noodles and canned goods to indigenous people, picture-taking and frolicking in a nearby waterfall or cave for the rest of the day. Also, outreach activities can be a form of discrimination, especially when the beneficiaries are pictured as people who cannot fend for themselves.
I was glad that my group mates decided that we conduct something like a seminar instead. But still, I wasn’t so enthusiastic about the trip to the far-flung place. Riding in a motorcycle over rugged hills and farms for 30 minutes may seem like an adventure for others, but not for me. I spent my childhood in the hinterlands of Sultan Kudarat, where riding in a “skylab” (a motorcycle remodeled to carry up to four passengers) was the most convenient mode of transportation. I had enough experiences of landing in mud and having a sore butt to last me a lifetime. So when my group mates informed me that all was set for our outreach activities in Sitio Lamtok, I thought, OK, let’s get over it quickly.
With bloodshot eyes and stringy hair from the dust and wind during the trip, I began introducing the law to the women. The topic was serious but there was never a dull moment in our discussion. Some of the mothers kept cracking jokes that sent everyone laughing. The babies wailed one after the other, and their mothers would hurry to rock them back to sleep, change their diapers, or breastfeed them.
The reactions of the women to RA 9262 were somewhat of a surprise to me. I expected them to nod in agreement with every provision that I read, but instead they would mutter: “May ara gali sina (You mean, there’s something in the law about that)?” or “Waay gid na sadto ba. (That was never practiced before)” or “Pwede gali na (Is that really allowed)?”
It struck me that this was the first time they were hearing about women’s and children’s rights. Judging by their comments, I could say that they even thought some of the provisions were a bit absurd and too favorable for them.
I sat on one side as my companions continued explaining the law. Looking around, I wished I had come in jogging pants and slippers. For although I was dressed simply—in white shirt, jeans and sneakers—I felt like I was overdressed amid the bucolic surroundings. The women were wearing everyday clothes and well-worn flip-flops. The chapel, which also serves as a day care center and a place for occasional gatherings such as the one the Women’s Association was having that day, was devoid of embellishments. The hardwood-and-bamboo walls had nothing on them, except for cheap copies of paintings depicting the Stations of the Cross. A miniature crucifix hung from a ceiling beam, its figure of Jesus Christ made of plastic. The afternoon sun was shining bright, but fresh and clean air never stopped blowing. For miles, the only source of the noise was the humble structure we were in.
I could not remember the last time I saw a group of people giving me cheerful and encouraging smiles. Perhaps it never happened before. Whenever I speak in front of people, be it in class or during seminars, I would usually be greeted by looks that seem to say, “I don’t really care” or “You better make sense.”
We stayed in the sitio for no more than an hour. When we rode the scooters that would carry us back to the highway, the women bade us goodbye with thank you’s, and the same sweet, heartwarming smiles appeared in their faces.
As the sitio receded from our sight, I was thinking that my classmates and I had probably accomplished our mission: to bring Christ to the women of Sitio Lamkot. Through our visit and the knowledge we shared with them, they might have felt that Jesus Christ is good, that He sometimes uses strangers to make His presence felt.
I thought of my schoolmates who are seminarians or social work majors. When they finish studying, they’ll always get to see the warm smiles of barrio folks. I wonder if it was envy that I felt, but I told myself that it would not be the last time that I would share my time with the people in the countryside.
I want to see those smiles again. And again.